


never love an anchor

by krtrs



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, a self indulgent fic if im being honest, basically just a reverse au, what would happen if dimitri was the royal instead of anya?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krtrs/pseuds/krtrs
Summary: "I really am him, aren’t I?”She nodded slowly.“Blue blood,” he scoffed.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 78





	never love an anchor

She was going to be late. She _couldn’t_ be late. Not if she wanted to keep her soft bed with her nice pillows and her warm blankets. She needed this job or she’d be right back on the streets, so she sprinted down the long halls, pulling her apron over her head as she went, clipping her shoulder against corners as she slid around them.

With her eyes trained on the ground in front of her feet, she missed the small boy walking ahead towards her. In her ignorance, she ran right into him, toppling them both down in the collision.

“Hey! Out of my way!” She shouted as she rubbed her sore arm. She’d landed funny. It wasn’t until she looked up that she’d realised her mistake. The colour drained from her face and her hands began to sweat. “Oh, no.”

“Sorry,” the boy said, voice soft and head ducked. She scrambled to her feet, quickly bowing as the boy stood and brushed himself off. He held a paperback in his hand, the cover of which was now bent.

“No, I’m sorry, your highness. It’s my fault,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry. She wouldn’t need to worry about being late if the Tsesarevich got her fired on her first day.

“You don’t have to bow,” he said, and she righted herself. “And you don’t have to use my title. It’s just Dimitri.”

“Butー”

“Anastasia, there you are!” A voice called from down the hall. Anastasia turned and saw chef Boris stalking towards her. “You’re late.”

“I was just on my way,” she pleaded.

“I’m sure the Tsesarevich is much too busy for the likes of you, little miss,” Boris sneered, grabbing her arm and beginning to drag her away. “Isn’t that right, your _imperial_ highness?”

Dimitri sighed at the title but didn’t argue. With barely a look in her direction, he was off again, nose back in his book. Royalty or not, no one disobeyed Boris.

* * *

The kids watched as the help made a hill of snow for them to slide down. Maria bounced on her heels as they finally finished.

Grabbing her sledge, she shoved her brother’s arm and challenged him to a race. He chased after her and laughed when she tripped just before getting to the hill.

“Twins,” a servant mumbled under their breath and shook their head. “Always a handful.”

Somehow Maria still made it to the top first. She placed her sledge down and sat. “Push me, Mitya!”

He did as told, shoving her as hard as he could. She screamed as she slid down the slope. When she stopped moving, Dimitri set down his sledge and followed her example. Snow flew up into his face and he was suddenly very grateful for the scarf Mama had made him wear.

Alexei cheered as Dimitri ran over to give him a high five. It was then that he noticed Anastasia, standing by the youngest Tsarevich’s side with the rest of the servants.

“Hey, I know you!” he said, walking over to stand by her. “You’re the kitchen girl!”

“Not anymore,” she replied. Turns out she was no good at cooking. She’d gotten reassigned after only two weeks.

“Weren’t good enough for Boris then?” Dimitri teased, pulling his gloves up. Anastasia was starting to wish he had a pair of her own. 

“Say, aren’t you usually supposed to find a hill to slide down on your own instead of having people make one for you?” Anastasia quipped before she could stop herself. She tensed as she waited for his reaction. She probably shouldn’t have said that. If he had been any of the other royal children then she’d have been dismissed on the spot.

Dimitri elbowed her but he was smiling.

“I like you,” he said as he watched Maria go down again on her stomach this time.

“Isn’t Alexei going to play?” Anastasia asked.

“No,” Dimitri said shortly. Leaning closer and whispering-yelling, he added, “he’s sick.”

Alexei stuck out his tongue at Dimitri but didn’t make a fuss.

Anastasia didn’t want to ask what that meant. She didn’t have a chance to anyways, as Dimitri was already running off and yelling after his sister.

And then a snowball hit her in the arm.

“Hey!” She spun around and saw Dimitri doubled over in laughter. “That’s not funny!”

The other servants snickered around her but didn’t say a word. Anastasia’s face burned.

“Mitya!” Maria shouted. Dimitri leaned down to make another snowball to throw at her. She ducked before it could hit her.

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” he said, kneeling in the snow behind his makeshift shield and crushing it into balls in his hands. Maria did the same.

“Kitchen girl, come over here!” Dimitri waved his hand and beckoned her over to sit by him. She looked over at the other servants suspiciously before following his command. 

“It’s _Anastasia_ ,” she said.

“That’s too long. Got a nickname?” He asked. Turning his attention back to the ground he added: “Help me make more snowballs.”

“My parents used to call me Nastya,” Anastasia said. Her hands were freezing.

“Well I want a nickname just for me,” he grumbled and then brightened within the same moment. “I’ll call you Anya, okay?”

“Okay,” Anastasiaー Anyaー agreed. Was she just imagining it, or were her fingers turning blue?

Dimitri glanced over at her, quickly placing his gloves in her lap. Before she could refuse and try to return them, he was back to hurling snowballs at his sister, acting as if he hadn’t done anything. Anya slipped on the gloves, careful not to tug on them too hard.

“Hey! That’s not fair, it’s two against one!” Maria complained.

“Get your own kitchen girl, Mashka,” Dimitri called back, laughing.

Anya wanted to grumble something rude about kitchens and princes but thought better of it. There was no use in making the Tsesarevich angry now.

A snowball slammed into the front of the sledge and Dimitri let out a cry of triumph. The shield worked. Standing on his knees, he hucked one at his sister and she dodged it with a scream.

Maria dragged another servant onto her team, levelling the playing field a bit. Snow flew through the air, hitting everything nearby. Anya and Dimitri laughed, teaming up to throw as much as they could without taking much time to aim. 

“Ow!” Alexei cried, falling to the ground. He was surrounded by people in an instant. A stray snowball had hit him on the thigh. Dimitri rushed over, shoving past the servants.

“Alyosha,” he kneeled down and helped Alexei to a sitting position. His brow knitted in concern. “Are you alright?”

Maria ran over as Alexei clambered up to his feet, her face pale.

“I’m okay,” the boy said, scanning himself for bruising or bleeding and finding nothing. 

“It’s time to go inside now, children,” one of the older servants said, grabbing Alexei’s hand and leading him back towards the palace. He would need to be assessed by his doctor, and the Tsarina wouldn’t be pleased. 

The twins grabbed their sledges before following. Dimitri turned back and waved at Anya with a sad smile before vanishing back inside.

It wasn’t until he was gone that she remembered was still wearing his gloves.

* * *

Balancing a tray of tea was much harder than it looked, Anya was quickly learning. The teapot was tipping the whole thing to one side and she was having trouble keeping it from toppling over with her other hand full of the stationary supplies she was meant to bring to Tatiana after delivering the tea.

She walked slowly, making sure not to trip over the carpets as she made her way towards Olga’s room. She was so close, just a few more meters, if she could just keep the damn thing balanced.

“Hi!”

Anya jumped and felt the tea tray slide out of her hand. With a small shriek, she watched as it all began to fall. Another pair of hands reached out and grabbed the tray from her, letting her regain her composure without spilling the contents of the tray all over the floor.

“Thank you soー” Anastasia glanced up and saw Dimitri standing before her, tray held steadily in front of him. Her eyes widened and she bowed quickly. “Your highness.”

“Stop bowing, I thought we went over this. No title, no bowing,” Dimitri said, nose scrunched up. He was taller than the last time she’d seen him.

“ _‘The Romanovs are royals, and they shan’t be treated as anything less,’_ ” Anya recited the speech she’d been given many times before with a mock-posh accent and a roll of her eyes. Then added: “You’re the future Tsar.”

“Well, I’m not Tsar yet and I’m just a kid, so you can treat me like one,” Dimitri said. He looked like he wanted to cross his arms and stomp his foot, but with his hands still full of a tea tray, he wasn’t able to.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Anastasia asked, taking back her tray from his hands.

Suddenly becoming sheepish, Dimitri looked anywhere other than at her and mumbled something indecipherable under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I’m hiding from my French tutor,” he repeated louder. Anya barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the tray, again.

“Why?” She asked, righting the tea set.

“As much as I’d like to speak French like my sisters, learning it is most definitely the worst thing in the world.”

“I think there are probably worse things than learning French,” Anya smiled. “Like having to carry this teapot.”

Dimitri laughed. Anya started to carefully walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I have to take this tea to Olga,” she replied. Dimitri ran to catch up to her and then began walking beside her.

“Olga doesn’t like tea. She just sends for it so the servants leave her alone for a while,” he said. Anya stopped, turning to look at him.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“Positive,” he nodded.

“Dimitri Nikolaevich! Where have you run off to now?” A voice called from a few rooms away. 

“That will be Pierre,” Dimitri cringed before springing into action. He grabbed the tray and stationery supplies from her and placed it on a nearby decorative table. Then he took her hand and climbed up to crouch behind the thick curtains covering the large windows lining the walls.

“What are we doing?” Anya whispered though she wasn’t sure why.

“Hiding, obviously,” Dimitri said, letting go of her hand.

“Well, why am I here then?” Anya asked. She really should be taking her deliveries to the Grand Duchesses. “ _I’m_ not avoiding French lessons.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” Dimitri tilted his head in his confusion.

Anya hadn’t thought about it. They’d played in the snow together, sure, but did that quality as friendship? She worked for the palace, after all.

She was just about to open her mouth and dismiss the notion, but she stopped. She’d never had a friend before, not one her own age at least. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be friends with a Tsarevich. He seemed nice enough, even if he was a little bossy at times.

“If we’re friends then I should have a nickname to call you by,” she said. “You call me Anya, so it’s only fair.”

“Alright,” he whispered. Now all she needed to do was think of one for him.

Dimitri held a hand over his mouth to quiet his breathing as footsteps entered the hallway and grew nearer. Anya did the same. They waited until Pierre was gone before they started to laugh.

“I have an idea,” Anya said, getting down from the window ledge and starting to walk to the end of the hall.

She stopped at a painting of the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and waited for Dimitri to catch up.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked.

“Somewhere your tutor won’t look for you,” she said, pressing her shoulder against the wall and revealing a small door. She disappeared inside before Dimitri could stop her.

“There are hidden tunnels in the walls?” His jaw dropped open as he hunched his shoulders to fit inside. Anya closed the door behind them and smiled as he looked around the space lined with candles.

“Welcome to the servants’ passages. They go all over the palace so we can slip in and out of rooms quicker.”

“You’re sure you know your way around here? Everything looks the same,” Dimitri asked, eying his surroundings suspiciously. Anya couldn’t help but agree. She’d gotten lost the first few times she’d been there.

“Trust me, Dima,” Anya said, using the nickname she’d just thought of.

“Dima?”

“Yeah, like it?” Oh no, what if he hated it?

Dimitri only nodded before asking if she wanted to play hide-and-seek.

His smile shined with a certain air of mischief. Anya couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Only if you hide first,” she said and closed her eyes to start counting as he took off running.

* * *

Anya groaned and leaned over the edge of the ship. Who even invented yachts? And who thought that spending a week on a ship surrounded by smelly sailors was a good vacation?

“Anya?” Dimitri walked up and asked. She groaned again in response.

“I hate this vacation,” she whined.

“Put cotton in one ear. It helps with seasickness.” He motioned towards his own ear, full of fluff. Anya chuckled before leaning back over the yacht. The floor seemed to sway under her feet, but that might’ve just been the waves.

“Right, I’ll go grab some.” He ran off, returning a few moments later with a handful of cotton, as promised. 

Anya took some and did as told, sighing in relief as her stomach started to settle.

“Wanna take pictures with me?” He offered, grabbing her hand and leading her away from the edge. Maybe if she couldn’t see the water below, she’d feel better.

“Take pictures of what?” Anya asked, brows furrowed. The Romanovs had always had a thing for cameras, but it was Dimitri who harboured the most love for it.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged and stopped walking. 

Turning to face her, the Tsesarevich held up his Brownie and instructed Anya to pose. She straightened and smiled a bit before her vision was blinded by a bright flash.

“We take pictures of things we want to remember,” he explained. “Now take one of me.”

He handed her the Brownie and made a face. Anya giggled a little as she took the picture.

“Dimitri! Where are you?”

“Oh no, that’s the governess,” his face paled. Anya scrunched up her brow.

“Who?”

“It’s what we call Tatya,” he explained. “She’s just like Mama.”

Anya just nodded. Would she ever understand this family?

“Come on, we can take this film down to be developed while we hide from my sister.” He latched onto her hand again and started to run. With a yelp, Anastasia was dragged along.

* * *

The family was in Livadia when Alexei became ill again. Blood was pooling in his knees and he could no longer stand to get out of bed. Anya was assigned to help Doctor Derevenko take care of him. She liked it better than dish duty, so she had no complaints. She kept the Tsarevich company when Derevenko’s son Koyla left for the day. Alexei was a sweet kid. Even at eleven, he seemed to understand his harsh reality. He knew he had a disease, and probably would his whole life, and he knew how to make the best of it.

“If I ever get kidnapped, I can just cut my finger a little and the trail of blood will lead the search party right to me!” He’d joked once at dinner, earning a glare from his mother. She’d always been protective.

“Hey, Alyosha.” Two heads poked into the room one evening. The twins. “We brought some books to read if you want to. We missed you.”

Dimitri pranced over and took the seat by Alexei’s bed, sitting straight across from Anya. Maria sat in the rocking chair by the window, needlework in hand. She was being unusually quiet, but it wasn’t Anya’s place to question it.

“Anastasia was telling me a story,” Alexei said. Dimitri glanced up and raised his eyebrows but she just shook her head. Dima already knew all her stories. All the good ones, at least.

“It wasn’t that interesting. I’d rather listen to an actual book. Wouldn’t you, your highness?” She said, smiling down at the youngest Tsarevich.

“I brought your favourite,” Dimitri tempted, holding up a worn-out copy of The Secret Garden. Alexei lit up, prompting Dimitri to open the book and start from the beginning again.

“When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too,” he began, looking up to smile at Anya.

She stuck her tongue out at him as he continued reading.

* * *

The ballroom was glowing. People twirled and chatted and laughed. The Tsesarevich stood by his father, tall and handsome as ever, with his sister by his side. They were eighteen now, with the whole world at their fingertips.

A man in uniform walked up and asked for Maria's hand in the next dance. She blushed a deep scarlet and accepted with a bright smile. Dimitri watched as she was whirled off into the crowd of dancing couples.

Excusing himself, he headed to the table where Anya was serving refreshments and sweet pastries.

“Good evening, your highness,” she tipped her head in respect. They’d mastered this game of pretend years ago, making sure no one knew about their little camaraderie. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

Dimitri smiled graciously and took the offered flute. “There are so many people here.”

“More opportunities that way,” she said quietly as he came to stand by her side. No one was looking at them. He downed most of his drink in one go.

“Opportunities?”

“To find allies, of course,” she smiled and then mumbled softer, “or suitors.”

Dimitri choked on the rest of his drink, face turning red. “Meet me in the garden in a few minutes?”

“As you wish, your highness.” She giggled at the roll of his eyes. 

She watched as he left, saying hello to everyone he passed on the way to the garden door. He was probably using the smoking excuse like he usually did to get out of social events. After a couple of minutes of waiting inconspicuously, she took the back way to the garden.

There, she saw him leaning on the short stone wall separating the walkway area from the rose bushes. He had a cigarette between his lips, as expected.

“Hello, prince charming,” she teased. “Enjoying your beautillion ball?”

“Oh please, this is Mashka’s night,” he shook his head and blew out the smoke he breathed in. Anya laughed, taking a seat on the wall beside him. Her shoes were killing her. “She’s the one who wanted a debutante.”

“Well she does look like she’s having fun,” Anya agreed.

“She better be because I only came out tonight for her. Could’ve stayed in bed all night and read a book or something,” he snarked, taking another drag. He’d never been one for large gatherings. Too many people.

“Here,” he held out a cigarette for her. “You look like you need one too.”

“I don’t want to impose,” she refused. She had some stashed in the servants quarters. She could smoke later.

“It’s alright. I always carry extras so I can sneak a few to Maria,” he reassured, pushing the cigarette into her hand. “Mama would absolutely die if she knew all the mischief her youngest daughter got up to.”

Anya chucked and placed the cigarette in her mouth. Dimitri leaned over and lit it for her.

“Thank you.” She hoped the dark of the night covered her blush.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and maybe he was blushing too.

Taking the first drag of her cigarette, she messed with the hem of her dress.

“You look beautiful, you know,” he said as if noticing her outfit for the first time. The dress was the simple servants uniform that had been issued the day before. Yellow with a blue ribbon around the waist.

“Look who’s talking,” she scoffed. “You look like a proper royal now. Blue sash and everything.”

“Oh yeah, rub it in, why don’t you?” He sighed, running his free hand through his gelled hair, causing a lock to fall in front of his face. He tapped his cigarette and watched the ash fall next to his freshly polished shoes.

“It wasn’t meant to be a bad thing,” Anya backtracked. “I think you look handsome. Very respectable for a future Tsar, I think. Probably driving all the ladies mad in there.”

“I’ve danced with every girl in that room. I feel like my feet have gone numb.” He scowled.

“You can’t possibly have danced with _everyone_ , Dima,” she protested.

“You’re right.” He looked her over once more, a smile growing on his lips, the special one reserved just for her. Putting out his smoke and tossing the butt into the rosebush, he took a step back and reached out his hand. “May I have this dance, Anastasia Ilyanovna?”

Anya sat there for a moment, jaw hanging open, before regaining control over her thoughts. She smashed her cigarette against the stone wall and hopped to her feet. Curtseying quickly, she grabbed his hand.

She didn’t know how to dance, and they didn’t have any music, but it didn’t seem to faze Dima as he gracefully led her into the waltz while humming a tune under his breath.

“You’re a natural,” he said when he caught her watching her feet and chewing on her bottom lip. His grip around her waist tightened and he pulled her closer to his chest. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“I just have a good teacher,” she mumbled, nearly avoiding stepping on his foot.

Just as she felt she was starting to get the hang of it, he brought them to a halt. Leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, he breathed: “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” she smiled, eyes closed in content. “Little dizzy.”

Opening her eyes to meet his gaze, she noticed just how close together they were. If she would just reach up to meet him she couldー

She pulled away abruptly, remembering her place. “I’m sorry, I have to get back. I still have a job to do.”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could get too far away, tugging her back to him so he could wrap his arms around her properly. In a second, his lips were pressed against hers.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling away just enough to speak without breaking too much contact.

Anya smiled and kissed him again.

* * *

“This is the last time,” she said. She didn’t look very convincing, face shoved into the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around his chest.

“You said that last time,” he breathed a quiet laugh. “And the time before that.”

His hand trailed down her side before resting on her hip. They were pressed together on the small cot so closely that they almost forgot where one of them ended and the other began. It was perfect.

“Well, I mean it this time.” She didn’t. Maybe if she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough she’d melt into his skin and they’d never have to part in the morning. Dimitri took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Someone will find out.”

“We’ve been careful,” he said, tracing her hip bone. “We can go on like this for as long as we need to.”

“You plan on doing this forever, then?” She lifted her head to look at him. “Keep us as some sordid affair when you’re married off to whichever princess or duchess or whatever your parents chose for you?”

“When I’m Tsar I’ll have more of a say in my own life and I’ll just say no to whoever is presented to me. Besides, I’ve already chosen who I want,” he says, brow furrowed. Anya felt a pang in her chest.

“Dima, please, don’t delude yourself,” she said, pulling away from his embrace. “We’ll never be free to marry.”

“Butー”

“Even when you’re Tsar, the royal court would never allow a commoner into their ranks. They’d tear you apart before you can even sit on the throne. Not to mention the rest of the country. You think Russia would want some servant girl as their next Tsarina? There would be riots in the streets.” Her eyes were burning, but she had to say it. He had to understand.

Dimitri was silent for a long moment before he let out a sigh and leaned back further into the mass of pillow snuck in from Anya’s room. Only Alexei was allowed a normal bed and pillows.

Suddenly: “What if I abdicated?”

“What?” Anya shrieked, grabbing the blanket to cover herself and sitting with her legs crossed. “Are you crazy?”

Dimitri bolted up to shush her, holding his hand over her mouth so she didn’t scream more. They were already pushing their luck with her staying the night. He was fortunate he didn’t share a room as his sister did. Maria had insisted she didn’t want to sleep in the same room with him when they were fourteen and Alexei shared a room with Derevenko, leaving Dima his own coveted space.

“Be quiet, will you?” He hushed as she struggled to pull away. “I’ll let you go if you promise to not yell again.”

Anya nodded.

“You swear?”

Another nod. He slowly removed his hand.

“Are you out of your mind?” She whisper-yelled. “Christ, Dima. Tell me you aren’t serious.”

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with it,” he defended. She groaned.

“You can’t abdicate. What about Alexei?”

“Alexei would be fine.” Saying it felt like a lie, but he wanted so badly to believe it.

“Don’t be stupid.” She swatted his arm, long past being afraid of his power as the Tsesarevich. If he was going to bring her down he would have done so when they first met, not now that they shared a bed most nights. “He would drown in the responsibility. And you know that.”

“Are you insultingー”

“Of course not! I’m just saying that once the people found out that their new Tsar was sick, they wouldn’t hesitate to overthrow him in favour of a stronger leader. It’s simple, Dima.”

“And if he abdicated too?” He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

“You’d let another family take over the throne after three hundred years of power?” Anya asked. She already knew she’d won, but it helped to drive the point home.

Dimitri hesitated before sighing. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He reached out and pulled her closer to him so she was straddling his lap and his arms were wrapped around her waist.

“We’ll just have to enjoy this while it lasts then, right?” He said, branding a kiss to her shoulder before pressing his nose against her throat. She hummed in response, tangling her fingers in his hair.

It wouldn’t last.

* * *

Maria cornered him when they were in Tobolsk. Nicholas was no longer Tsar and they were no longer royals in anything but blood. Now they were just prisoners.

“So,” she started awkwardly. “Anastasia, then?”

His blood ran cold in an instant. 

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he said, voice stilted.

“You don’t have to act dumb, Mitya,” Maria pressed. “I already know.”

“How long?” He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I saw her leaving your room a couple of weeks ago, but I assume it’s been going on longer than that,” Maria said, looking anywhere but his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mitya? I’m supposed to be the person you tell things that other people don’t get to know.”

“Mashka,” he started but stopped himself. How many other people knew? How much danger was Anya in?

“Olga has her suspicions, but I’m sure Tatya hasn’t got a clue. If she did, Anastasia would already be gone,” Maria replied as if reading his mind.

Dimitri let out a sigh of relief at the news. Olga wouldn’t tell a soul, being the good older sister she is, but Tatiana was so much like their mother. If she knew something was going on, she’d tattle in a second. There was a reason the younger kids used to call her the governess.

“I’m not going to rat you out. I know you want to keep her safe,” Maria assured him. “I just wish you’d confided in me earlier.”

Dimitri felt all his muscles relax at once and he took a deep breath. “Want me to tell you about her?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

“Name,” the officer demanded, not letting her pass.

“Anastasia Ilyanovna,” she replied, trying to peer over his shoulder. She needed to get back to Alexei’s bedside before he woke up.

“Last name,” the soldier sighed, flipping through the papers on his clipboard.

“Akimov.” She was growing impatient, but it wouldn’t be wise to lash out at the people responsible for their imprisonment. Yekaterinburg was worse than Tobolsk, by far. And the Bolsheviks revelled in it. They weren’t even allowed to look outside the windows without being shot at. “Can I go?”

She glanced down at the music box she was holding and slipped it into her pocket. She was bringing it from Dimitri’s room to Alexei’s, but she didn’t want the soldier to see it and get any ideas.

“Comrade Akimov, you’re being dismissed,” the man said, voice stern and face blank. Her stomach dropped to her feet.

“What? Why?” Anya asked. She’d willingly followed them into exile, why was she being sent away now?

“We’ve been ordered to remove all non-essential personnel,” the soldier replied, grabbing her by the arm and beginning to drag her away. “Trust me, you’ll be glad you left once this is all over.”

“What does that mean?” What was going to happen to them? “Can’t I say goodbye?”

“No.”

“What about my things? Let me go get them,” she pleaded, trying to pull her arm out his grasp. Maybe she could write a note for Dimitri.

God, Dimitri. He would think she’d abandoned him. He wouldn’t know where she was or if they’d ever see each other again. Was he going to be safe?

“You can gather new possessions in town. I’m sure you’ll be able to find work,” he said. They’d reached the front door.

“Please,” she tugged harder, desperate to get away from him. She promised Dimitri she wouldn’t leave. “Please let me see them. I have to say goodbye.”

The soldier disregarded her completely, opening the door and letting another officer lead her to the metal fence surrounding the Ipatiev House. Her heart shattered as he closed the gate behind her.

“Goodbye, Comrade.”

That night, nestled in the woods not far from the House, the echoes of gunshots and tears were never-ending.

* * *

“How can I help you, love?” A burly woman glanced up at her from over the counter. Sniffing, Anya tugged her coat closer to herself. The walk into town had not been forgiving. The past few nights spent under the stars had been worse. Even in July, nights in Russia were bitter and cruel.

“I need a room.” She must have looked as bad as she felt, because the woman hurried to her side, key in hand. The two walked up a flight of stairs before turning a corner into a long hall.

“Do you have any money?” The woman asked. Anya shook her head pathetically. She hadn’t thought about that. She just knew she wanted out of the cold that night and the inn looked so warm, glowing in pale orange light. “You can work here, then. We always need extra hands.”

The woman opened the door at the end of the hall, revealing a small room. She led Anya inside, sitting her down on the bed. “I won’t ask any questions about who you are, where you’re from, or where you’re going. Just be down by nine and my husband will find something for you to do.”

“Thank you,” Anya muttered softly as the woman bustled out of the room, leaving the small key resting in her hand. Alone once again, the silence was deafening.

Exhausted, she tugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the ground. A soft thud drew her attention. Picking up the jacket again, she reached into the pocket. 

The music box.

She’d put it there before she left, forgetting about it as she was dragged away. The jewels on the lid alone would have been enough to get her to St. Petersburg, not to mention the gold it was made out of. She felt her eyes sting at the thought of selling it. It was all she had left of them. Of him.

His grandmother had gifted it to him when he was little, saying it would lull him to sleep when she was gone. What Anya wouldn’t give to hear him hum the tune one more time.

She hadn’t been able to gather her things. She’d lost her photos of him, her diary filled to the brim with stories of them, the gifts and handwritten notes he’d given her. Everything was gone.

She reached underneath the music box, searching for the lever she’d seen Dimitri use to open it, but found nothing. It was stuck shut. Had she broken it?

Wiping at her nose, she decided not to fiddle with the box anymore. She tucked it safely away in her jacket again and laid back on the bed.

Sleep did not come that night, but at least the cold didn’t either.

* * *

“Let me go!” She cried, struggling to get away from the man who was pulling at her shirt. “Bastard!”

The drunkard had just pulled harder, tearing the buttons open so she was exposed to the cold night air. She threw her hands out wildly, hoping she’d hit some sort of target before he could get to her skirt. She managed to scratch his face, but that only seemed to make him more determined.

“Hey!” Another man called from down the alley. He ran towards them to pry the barfly off of her. With a solid couple of punches, the man had let her go and was fleeing back to the street, tail tucked. Anastasia took a shaky breath and tried to pull her torn blouse closed as much as she could.

“Here,” her defender slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “It’s too cold to be wearing just that tonight.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, not looking at his face.

“Let me walk you home,” he offered. “I can fend off the rest of the drunks for you.”

“My knight in shining armour,” she teased, smiling at the ground. He laughed and she felt her heart twist into a knot. She recognized that laugh.

She glanced up and froze.

“What?” He asked, noticing her change in mood.

“Dimitri?”

“Mitya, actually.” His brow furrowed and he tilted his head. “Have we met?”

“No,” she backtracked quickly. Dimitri was dead. All the Romanovs were dead. Had been for six years, and she’d be wise to remember that. “You just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

“Oh,” he sighed and his breath clouded around his face.

She walked off, leaving him to follow if he wanted. His feet scuffled against the pavement as he rushed after her.

“Where are we going then?” He asked, catching up with her.

“The old palace.”

“What?”

“The Yusupov palace, haven’t you heard of it?” She asked, turning her head to look at him. God, the resemblance really was uncanny. Same jaw, same mouth, same brow.

“Of course I have,” Mitya frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m just curious as to why you live there.”

“Honey,” she sighed. “You saw where we just left, didn’t you?”

He nodded, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from under his hat and lighting one for himself. He held out the box to offer her one but she ignored it.

“You think a brothel pays enough money for proper housing?”

He shook his head, shoving the cigarettes into his pocket.

“That’s what I thought.” 

A few minutes later she stopped on the sidewalk, motioning to the high metal fence beside them. “We’re here. Thanks for walking me, but I’m sure you’ve got other things to be doing.”

“Actually, I’m looking for a way to Paris.” He fiddled with his necklace as he spoke. “You know anyone who can help me get an exit visa?”

“Exit visas will cost you.” She rubbed her fingers together to prove her point.

“I work in the factory, I have some money,” he said.

“Let me rephrase that, exit visas are _expensive_. Your factory money isn’t going to cut it.” Her hands rested on her hips and she realised she was still wearing his jacket. She slid it off and placed it in his arms. The night was colder than she remembered it being before, but that was probably just because of the torn shirt she was stuck in.

“I can get more,” Mitya pleaded.

Narrowing her eyes, she looked him over once more. “C’mon, I know someone who can help. Maybe.”

She started for the back entrance.

“Really?” He chased after her.

“I said maybe,” she replied over her shoulder, climbing through a bent section of fence. Mitya followed without question. They made it to a doorway covered in wooden boards before he spoke up again.

“I never caught your name.”

“Never threw it.” She pried off a section of boards and crawled inside. “I’m Anastasia, but if you’re a Bolshi then my name is Helga and it’s very nice to meet you, comrade.”

She stuck out her hand when he was inside the palace with her. He shook it.

“Right, well,” she took a deep breath and then shouted: “Vlad!”

A voice called back from further in the palace.

“Ah, there he is,” Anastasia smiled and started for one of the hallways where his yell had come from.

They entered a large theatre and were met with a short and stout man hunched over a makeshift desk. “Hey, Vlad. Got a potential customer here.”

“Gross, take him to your room,” Vlad said, not looking up from the paper in front of him. “Thought we agreed that you’re not supposed to tell me when you’re about to sleep with someone.”

Anastasia scoffed and grabbed Mitya by the arm, dragging him in front of the desk. “A customer _for you_ , mudak.”

Vlad scrunched his nose at the insult and looked up to see Mitya before him. His jaw dropped for a moment before he regained his senses. “H-how can I help you?”

“I’ve been here before,” Mitya mumbled to himself, turning to look around the room. “There was a play. Everyone was all dressed up.”

“He wants to get to Paris,” Anastasia said for him, ignoring his quiet rambling. “I think he’s crazy.”

It was then that Vlad noticed her clothing. He raised an eyebrow as she attempted to hold her blouse shut.

“Go change,” he said. She sent him an appreciative smile before scurrying off.

* * *

“You see it too, don’t you?” Vlad asked later that night. Mitya was sitting in the corner, a cup of water resting in his hands. “He looks just likeー”

“The Tsesarevich, I know,” she cut him off. “Dimitri Romanov is dead, Vlad.”

“Yes but _still_. The Dowager has a reward out for his return, haven’t you heard?”

Of course, she’d heard. “So what are you proposing?”

“We dress him up as the boy and take him to Paris as he wants. We can split the money between the two of us and we’ll never have to sleep on a damp floor ever again!” Vlad explained. Anastasia looked over her shoulder at Mitya, who was picking at a clump of mud caught in his sole. 

He looked very similar, yes, but he was not the same. He was thinner, and his hair was longer too, but that could be changed. He was not elegant. He did not radiate confidence like Dimitri did, instead choosing to hunch his shoulders and keep his head down. He was rough where Dimitri had been gentle. No, he was not the same.

“I’m not sure. Would that even work?” She asked, thinking back to the music box left in her room. He didn’t seem very princely.

“Possibly,” Vlad smiled, nudging her shoulder. “He doesn’t remember anything from before he was nineteen. We can use that, no?”

“Okay fine, we can try it,” Anastasia conceded. Vlad let out a cry of triumph but she cut him off. “If anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you entirely.”

“Deal.” 

Now they just had to sell it to Mitya.

* * *

“Who was your great grandmother?” Vlad asked, not looking up from his book.

“Princess Victoria,” Mitya replied easily.

“Great great grandmother?”

“Uh,” he scrambled to reach his history book. “Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld.”

“Your best friend is?” Vlad continued.

“My little brother Alexei,” Mitya said with a grin. Anya frowned from her corner of the room. It was Maria, not Alexei.

“Wrong,” she corrected him. “Your best friend isー”

“I know who my best friend is!” Mitya growled.

Anya’s mouth dropped at the outburst. “What a temper!”

“I don’t like being contradicted.”

“Well, that makes two of us!” Anya shot back.

“Continuing on,” Vlad interrupted, sending Anya a glare that shut her right up. She didn’t speak up again as Vlad moved on with the review.

* * *

“No, Anastasia, you don’t lead.” Vlad stopped them off for the third time in the last five minutes. “Let him lead.”

Anastasia threw her head back with a groan. They’d been dancing for hours and they were no closer to perfecting it. She didn’t know how to dance anyway, she’d only done it the once.

Mitya did not dance like Dimitri. He tripped and he swore and he was too stiff. It was the only thing keeping Anastasia from crying about it if she was being honest.

“Try again,” Vlad demanded and started to count again. “ _One_ two three, _one_ two three. Good. Don’t get into your own heads too much.”

They were spinning again, this time slower and more careful of where they stepped. Anastasia let Mitya lead her across the theatre stage, trying to appease Vlad by letting him do most of the work.

For once everything seemed to be going smoothly. And then he stepped on her foot.

Anastasia let out a cry and instinctually kicked his shin.

“Fuck!” Mitya yelled. 

The two of them lept back from each other, faces burning with anger. God, if she wasn’t riding on him as her ticket out of Russia, she would have killed him already. Or maybe just beat him up real good. Either way, she’d make him regret being such a pain in her ass.

Mitya stuck his tongue out at her.

“Enough! You two are so childish!” Vlad cried.

“He stepped on my foot!”

“She kicked me!”

“And I will throw you both out if you keep fighting!” Vlad argued.

“You can’t kick me out, I brought you here!” Anastasia shouted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And I regret following you every day,” Vlad grumbled.

“It was either me or the firing squad.”

“Do it again,” Vlad said. Anastasia and Mitya sighed nearly at the same moment but joined hands again. Vlad was going to make them learn to waltz even if it killed them. “And no violence this time.”

Anastasia took another steadying breath as they got in position again. She just had to remember the money. That’s what this was all for. The ten million rubles, the posh hotels, the designer clothes, the expensive food she’d be able to enjoy. And the freedom. Mostly the freedom, if she was honest. She’d gone without fancy things most of her life, she could continue that way. But the idea of leaving Russia behind? That’s what she was focused on.

Vlad headed for the door as they began to spin again. “Wait, where are you going?” Mitya asked.

“I’ve had enough of your bickering, I need a break. Keep working until you get it right.” And then they were alone.

The silence between them was awkward, but neither knew what to say to fill it. Mitya seemed to relax a bit more in the solitude, which was promising. Anastasia really didn’t want to get stepped on again.

“I think we’re getting the hang of it,” he said quietly, still watching where he placed his feet. Anastasia nodded her agreement.

They tested out one of the more complicated spins that Vlad had shown them. It wasn’t a complete disaster. Mitya stopped looking down at his shoes and noticed Anastasia studying his face.

They’d never been this close together before. Since when did she have freckles?

“Maybe Vlad was the problem,” Anastasia smiled. Mitya found that he liked her smile. It was a bit crooked, in a charming sort of way.

“Don’t tell him that,” Mitya laughed. “He’d kill us in our sleep.”

“Nah, not me. You though?” Anastasia said. “ It’s a toss-up.”

They danced for a few more minutes before Anastasia spoke up again. 

“I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”

“Kind of light-headed?” Mitya asked. They’d stopped dancing.

“Yeah.”

“Probably from all the spinning,” Mitya said, voice soft. “Maybe we should stop.”

“We have stopped,” Anastasia smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“R-right,” Mitya blushed and let go of her waist.

“Mitya I…” Anastasia leaned a little closer to him.

“Yes?” He looked hopeful, eyes trailing down to her lips. She shook her head and stepped back.

“You’re doing fine.” She tried to ignore the disappointed expression on his face as she walked away.

* * *

A week later Mitya came back from the factory late with a wrapped up hand and a bloody nose.

“The hell happened to you, boy?” Vlad asked as soon as he entered the palace.

“Accident at work. I’m fine.” Mitya tried to brush it off but Vlad was having none of it. 

“Anastasia? Come here and check him out, will you?” Vlad called over his shoulder. Anastasia sighed and set down her spoon. The soup wasn’t that good anyway, it wouldn’t make a difference if it was warm or cold. “Put some of that nursing experience to good use. We don’t want to scar up the Tsesarevich.”

Anastasia stood from the table and led Mitya to a corner of the room, unwrapping the bandage from his hand to access the damages. It wasn’t deep enough of a cut to warrant stitches, thankfully.

“Not blue,” Mitya muttered.

“What?” She asked, digging through her bag and looking for something to disinfect the cut with. She made a soft “Ahah” when she discovered a bottle of vodka.

“My blood. It’s not blue,” he clarified, motioning towards the wound.

“Shut up.” She ripped a part of her skirt and poured a small amount of the alcohol on it. She then pressed it to his hand, which was still bleeding steadily but not rapidly. Not enough to worry.

Mitya hissed through his teeth when the cloth made contact but didn’t complain. It was the best disinfectant they had on hand.

“How’d this happen, then?” She asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

“It was just an accident,” he answered vaguely. Anastasia hummed, not pressing the issue further. Removing the fabric, she felt Mitya’s hand relax in hers. She wrapped it up again, hoping that it wouldn’t get infected. That was the last thing they needed.

“Be more careful. Wouldn’t want to mark up that pretty face, now would we?” She teased. His mood was different than usual, but she couldn’t quite place how. She didn’t like it.

“How long has it been bleeding?”

“Only a few hours,” Mitya replied. Anastasia’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s fine. I’ve always bled a lot. Nothing to worry about.”

She figured she’d take his word for it. Tearing another piece of her already tattered skirt, she handed it to him. He looked at her quizzically.

“For your nose,” she explained. He tilted his head up and pressed the cloth against the nostril that was bleeding. “You’re just lucky it isn’t broken.”

She punched his arm before leaving him be. “Ow.”

“Men are such babies,” she mumbled as she went back to eating her cold soup.

* * *

Anastasia woke up to screaming. She shot up from the floor, racing to grab the nearest thing that might be a weapon. She ended up holding a shoe and running out into the hall. Had the Bolshi’s found them?

She raced into the room the screams had come from, ready to fight off whoever was intruding. The room was empty except for Mitya, who was thrashing around on the small couch he’d been using as a bed. She dropped the shoe and raced to his side.

“Mitya, wake up.” She kneeled by him, grabbing his shoulder to try and shake him awake. “It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

He shot up in an instant, stiff and ready to attack.

“Mitya, calm down,” Anastasia tried, hoping she wouldn’t get punched.

“Anya.” His shoulders slumped when he realised it was only her. Anastasia didn’t have time to realise what he’d called her before she was pulled into a crushing hug.

“ I can’t breathe,” she gasped, tapping his arm three times. He loosened his grip but didn’t let her go.

“I keep seeing faces,” he mumbled into her hair, “so many faces.”

“They’re just dreams, Mitya,” she said, finally hugging him back. “You’re okay. We’re safe.”

Mitya released her after a few more moments, sniffing a bit but not crying. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I don’t mind,” she answered.

“So I didー”

“I said I don’t mind.”

Mitya was quiet for a second before he said, “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. Promise,” she smiled gently, grabbing his uninjured hand. The other hadn’t completely healed yet even though it had been weeks.

“Why do I feel like you’ve said that before?” He chuckled to himself mostly, settling back down on the couch. Anastasia leaned back against the sofa, deciding she’d just fall asleep on the floor beside him, playing with his fingers.

Mitya went silent again, giving her time to think over what had just happened. What had he been dreaming about?

It hit her then, what he’d first said when he woke up.

“Wait. Did you call me Anya?” She asked, turning around to look at Mitya. He was already asleep.

* * *

“Are you ever going to tell me how you knew the Tsesarevich?” Vlad asked one day out of the blue. Mitya was at the factory and it was Anastasia’s day off, leaving her alone with Vlad and his half-empty bottle of vodka. They were trying to plan out more of Mitya’s lessons, finding little success.

“Rather not,” she said, temper already flaring. She didn’t want to think about Dimitri anymore. She’d mourned enough already, she deserved to be able to move on.

“Well,” Vlad continued. “I can guess, you know. And I see the way you look at Mitya, Sometimes it feels like you’re looking through him, at someone else.”

“I don’t.”

“An unspoken attraction,” Vlad teased, voice getting lighter.

“Attraction? To that spoiled brat? Are you out of your mind?” Anastasia snapped.

Vlad just smiled. “It appears you have a decision to make, my dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to let him slip away?”

Anastasia stood to leave then, having had enough of Vlad’s drunken nonsense. “You’re going crazy, old man.”

“He’s going to break your heart,” he called after her as she stormed off and, try as she might to ignore it, the words echoed around in her head for hours.

* * *

Their first kiss was on Bank Bridge. It was messy and they were drunk.

It was a mistake.

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

“Mitya?” Anastasia asked, holding up the picture that had fallen out of his jacket pocket. “What is this?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at what she was holding. The picture was of a young girl on a boat, standing tall and smiling just slightly. It was unmistakably Anya. “What’s it look like?”

“We take pictures of things we want to remember,” she mumbled, looking closer at the photograph. She’d been seasick all day when Dimitri had found her leaning over the railings. He’d given her a tour around the ship before he realised there were roller skates on board.

Anastasia felt her eyes start to water at the memory. She’d been forced out of the Ipatiev House without her things. She’d lost her matching photo of him.

“How did you get this?” Her voice cracked when she asked.

“I don’t know,” Mitya replied, taking a step closer to her. “I’ve always had it, ever since I can remember. I was kind of hoping I’d find her in Paris.”

He placed a hand on Anastasia’s shoulder, noticing a tear escape down her cheek. “Anya, what’s wrong?”

She jerked back at the nickname, shoving the picture back into his hands. Looking up, she saw his eyes. Romanov blue. How had she not put it together before? 

She _had_. Of course, she had.

She’d just chosen to ignore it.

All this time she’d been focused solely on the money. The rubles in it for her and Vlad. She hadn’t wanted to even consider that thisーthis stranger, this no-account amnesiac factory worker pulled off the streets could be her Dima.

“I have to go,” she choked out before sprinting off to her room. He shouted her name as she went but didn’t chase her.

* * *

She’d been avoiding him. He knew she was, but he didn’t know why. Had he said something? Done something?

“It’s snowing like hell out there,” he announced as soon as he’d gotten inside. “Might have to barricade the doors closed. Is Vlad back yet?”

“He probably won’t come back tonight. He’s got other places to stay on nights like these.” Anastasia was bundled up in the corner, a dirty paperback of Anna Karenina in her hand. She was squinting against the dark to read the page.

“You know, there’s more to literature than Tolstoy.” That had not been the right thing to say. Anya frowned, closed the book and stood to leave when Mitya started towards her.

He rushed up to stop her. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No,” she said, trying to get around him.

“Really? That’s why you’re avoiding me, then?” He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. She hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth. He glanced down and immediately let her go.

“I’m not avoiding you,” she said, bringing her hand up to her chest to rub the yellowing bruise.

“Anya,” Mitya said slowly. “Where did you get that?” 

“It’s nothing,” she tried. “Just a hazard of the job, I guess.”

“A man did this to you?” Mitya’s frown deepened and he took a step closer. He had to fight the urge to pull her into a hug and never let go. She’d be safer in his embrace, wouldn’t she? “They’re not allowed to hurt you. That’s the rules.”

“Rules get bent all the time, Mitya,” Anya brushed it off, but her voice was shaking. “It’s fine.”

He blocked her way again. “I hate your job.”

She glared up at him then. “Well my job pays better than yours, factory-boy, and it’s the only way we’re getting out of Russia before the borders shut.”  
“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She pushed his shoulder to slip past him but he grabbed her arm again, albeit this time more gently than before.

“Where else have they hurt you?” He asked, trying to see through her stony expression. Her eyes were as grey as the storm outside and her mouth was set in that thin line he’d come to dread.

“I’m fine,” she insisted once more before pulling away and leaving him standing there by himself.

* * *

She slipped into his room that night, shivering in only her nightgown. He sat up on his makeshift bed, making room for her to join him. She clambered up to straddle him instead. He leaned his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her middle. She tilted her head to kiss him and he didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.

He didn’t know where this was coming from, but he didn’t dare complain. This was better than fighting.

Her hand trailed underneath his shirt, nails dragging against his chest. He shuddered under her touch, bringing his hand to rest on her hip.

“Dima,” she whispered, small and breathless. She’d never called him that before. It felt right.

“We don’t have to…” he said, terrified. “If you don’t want…”

She brushed her lips against his. “No, I want to.”

With that, she tugged his shirt over his head, barely managing not to fall over given their limited space for movement. She leant down and pressed a kiss to his jaw next, making her way down his neck to his chest. There were scars there, right over his heart, mangled and raised from the rest of his skin. She opened her mouth to ask about them, but he tangled his fingers in her hair to pull her back to his mouth, making her forget about anything other than her want.

She rocked her hips experimentally, he let out a low moan at the friction. 

His fingers trailed down and met the hem of her nightgown, pushing it up to get better access. She sat up for a moment, trying to squirm her way out of the dress.

She giggled a bit as it got caught on her elbow, but she managed to throw it onto the floor, leaving herself in nothing but a thin brassiere and embarrassing pink knickers that went up to her navel.

Mitya stared for a second, admiring her. She blushed all the way down to her shoulders under his gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

She shook her head but didn’t say anything. Her hands travelled down his sides before she stopped at his waistband. She looked up at him for confirmation, and he nodded, letting her pull down his trousers. His undergarments were not as appealing as hers, but it didn’t matter when he pulled her closer and flipped their positions so he was on top of her.

The gasp on her lips was heavenly as he trailed kisses down her throat, sucking bruises as he went. She arched her back off the old couch, allowing Mitya to unclasp the brassiere and toss it into the growing pile of clothing on the floor. 

“Tell me what you want.” He needed her to enjoy this as much as he had no clue what to do from there.

“You,” she breathed. “I just want you.”

Mitya nosed his way down to her navel, pulling off her undergarment to rid her of the last piece of clothing she was wearing. Part of him wished that he had more experience with this sort of thing, but he was running on instinct, and Anya was there too and she probably knew what she was doing. He tried not to worry about it too much.

He struggled to remove his pants, causing Anya to laugh so hard she snorted. He stuck her tongue out at her before kissing her cheek.

“Last chance to say no,” he smiled. She threw her arm over his neck and kissed him hard, shutting him up. Her free hand reached down to wrap around him.

He groaned as she started to move her hand up and down. He wouldn’t last long if she kept that up, which would be horrible because there was so much he wanted to do to her. He grabbed her wrist to pull her away, making her pout in a way that tugged at his heart.

He slid down on the couch, kissing her knee and trailing up to her inner thigh. “Mitya, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He branded a kiss to her hip.

When he licked her, she let out a cry that made him glad Vlad was stuck out in the storm somewhere. He would have been at the door in seconds complaining about the noise level. Her legs trembled over his shoulder and she arched her back when he added a finger. He sucked on that little bundle of nerves as he added a second, feeling her unravel beneath him.

When she came, pulsing around his tongue and fingers, it was with his name on her lips and her hands in his hair. He had to rut his hips against the bed to relieve some of the pressure building in his stomach.

She pulled him up to kiss him again. How she still had the energy to wrestle him into affections? He didn’t know.

She flipped them again, grabbing and leading him to her entrance. She lowered herself down slowly, gasping and closing her eyes. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he moaned at the feeling of her around him, warm and wet and wanting. She was perfect. “Anya.”

After a moment of adjusting to his size, she started to move, rocking her hips forward and back, slowly at first, torturing him. He tried to snap up to meet her, but she held him down, picking up her pace once she got her bearings. He settled his roaming hands on her ass, needing something to ground himself with.

She leaned down, pressing her lips against his as she fucked herself on him, whining against his lips every time his cock hit that one place _just_ right. 

It was her, it was always going to be her. She was ruining him for every other woman, wrecking him, claiming him as her own. She set the standard too high for anyone else to ever even dream of coming close. She was everything.

“Oh, _god_.” She came again, hot and throbbing around him, rolling her hips slower with another moan of pleasure.

He switched their positions one last time, thrusting hard and making her toes curl. He muttered into her neck, “Sorry, I just… I need…”

He came a few seconds later like that, with a moan of her name on his lips. 

Collapsing by her side, careful not to crush her too much, his arms wrapped around her and held her close.

He buried his face in her hair. “Holy shit.”

She laughed softly at that, running her hand through his sweaty hair. Sex still made him swear like a sailor. Noted.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly, peppering kisses over the marks he’d left on her shoulder. “And I’m yours.”

Later, when their hearts had stopped pounding and the adrenaline had worn off, Anya laid on Mitya’s chest while he rubbed his thumb up and down over her ribs, trying to lull her to sleep.

“Not everyone is as gentle as you,” she mumbled, catching him tracing one of her bruises. He turned his head to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I don’t like your job.”

“We need my job. It’s the fastest way to Paris.”

“There are other options. There have to be.”

She quit the next day. After all, there was always a need for street sweepers.

* * *

“The Tsar and his family are dead,” the deputy commissioner said, pacing in front of his desk. 

“I know that sir,” Mitya nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking forward and back on the balls of his feet. Was this officer going to formally arrest him or not?

“I’ve heard rumours,” Gleb stopped pacing, “about people pretending to be Dimitri Romanov.”

Mitya swallowed past the lump in his throat, glancing at the gun in Gleb’s holster. “Is that so?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know of any of these imposters, now would you?”

Mitya shook his head while Gleb looked him up and down once more. 

“Who are you?”

“Mitya Alexandrovich.” That had been the name they’d come up with in case this very scenario occurred.

Taking a step closer, the officer looked into his eyes as he struggled to keep his head held high enough to appear innocent.

Romanov blue.

Sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, Gleb backed away, bringing his hand up to his face. “You should hide your eyes, _Mitya_. They give you away.”

Mitya opened his mouth to ask what he meant but decided against it. Gleb let him off with a warning, much to his good fortune. 

He didn’t hesitate to sprint back to the abandoned palace.

“There you are!” Anya cried when he rushed through the back entrance. She ran forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She was talking so fast he almost couldn’t keep up. “I didn’t know what to do when they took you in so I came back here but I didn’t know if they’d hurt you or not andー”

He pulled her away, holding his hand over her mouth to stop her ceaseless worrying. Smiling brightly he said, “I’m okay, I promise.”

* * *

“So you’re telling me you don’t speak any French? None at all?” Mitya asked, coming up from behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. They’d been more openly affectionate since his arrest, and Mitya could tell she was more afraid than ever of losing him.

“No,” she said, turning halfway around to see him better.

“You must know something,” he insisted. He knew French. For God’s sake, even Vlad knew French. “Hello, my name is Anastasia? Where is the bathroom?”

“Not a word,” she laughed. He hummed in thought, resting his head on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to one of the light bruises he’d left there a few days prior.

Then he mumbled, “Je t’aime.”

“What does that mean?” She twisted out of his grasp and frowned.

Mitya just grinned and reached for her hand, tugging her close again. “Tu es l’amour de ma vie.”

“Mitya!” She swatted his shoulder. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head and chuckled to himself. She reached out, trailing her fingers against his sides and making him laugh. 

“What’s it mean?” She giggled, continuing to tickle him.

“Stop! Stop, I beg you!” He choked out between laughs.

“Tell me and I will!” 

He grabbed her hands, forcefully pulling her away so he could catch his breath. 

“You’re not insulting me, right?” She asked, suddenly looking very serious.

“No!” Mitya cried, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “No, of course not.”

Her facade broke and she was all smiles again. “Gotcha.”

His jaw dropped open for a moment before he scowled and pulled her closer, “Why, you littleー”

“Shut up,” she said and then kissed him just to make sure he did.

* * *

Mitya sat up with a gasp. His breaths came short and tight in his lungs, his chest ached with the effort. He reached up and grabbed at the scars over his heart as if checking to see that he wasn’t bleeding. Anya was woken by his panic.

“Hey,” she ran her hand up his shoulder to get his attention. He twisted around to look at her, eyes full of unshed tears. “Mitya, breathe.”

He collapsed into her arms, holding her close and burying his face in her shoulder.

“They took us to a cellar. Told us we were leaving, that it wasn’t safe anymore. And then there was so much smoke and everyone was screaming and I couldn’t hear myself think,” he rambled between hiccups. “I fell to the ground and I saw Maria beside me. Then there were bayonets and I tried to… I wanted to get to her but she was… all of them were… all of them.”

“Hush, Mitya. Just breathe,” Anya soothed, running her fingers through his hair. She was trying to stay calm herself, not wanting to imagine the whole family getting murdered in any more detail than she had to.

Mitya sniffed and remained silent for a few moments.

“Alexei came up with that nickname, you know?” He said, voice trembling. “After, at the hospital, the nurses kept asking for my name and it was the first thing I could think of, I didn’t know what else to say.”

Anya didn’t have a reply, she just kept rubbing his arm and hoping it was at least a little soothing.

“It’s not fair,” he sniffed. “They were innocent. It should’ve been me.”

“I, for one, am glad you lived,” Anastasia said.

A moment of silence.

“Wanna hear a story?” She offered. “Might take your mind off of it, help you get back to sleep.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, finally pulling his head out of the crook of her shoulder. He’d stopped crying, much to the relief of Anya, for she had no clue how to comfort him, really.

“It was June,” she started. “I was eight, and there was this annual parade happening, so I went hoping to pick-pocket some unlucky someone to buy a new blanket. But then I saw the carriage with the Tsareviches and I was _floored_.”

Mitya laughed at that. 

“No, I mean it! Seriously, my jaw dropped,” Anya said with a grin. “So I shoved through the crowd, and there must have been a thousand people there, just to get to the front and see them better. And then, I don’t know, something came over me and I was chasing after the carriage like my life depended on it. Like if _Prince Dimitri_ didn’t see me, I’d die, or something.”

“Very poetic,” Mitya teased. “You said you were eight? Were you always a hopeless romantic?”

“Shut up,” she scrunched up her nose in the way she did when she was trying to be angry but didn’t really have the heart for it. “Anyways, I was chasing this carriage, and the guards were chasing me, of course, and then he turned to look at me. And he smiled. At me.”

“You’re forgetting to mention the most important part,” Mitya said, brows furrowed. “You bowed, remember? Right there in the middle of the street.”

“I-I didn’t tell you that,” Anya said, a little shaken by his sudden memory.

He just shrugged and settled back down, using her as a human pillow. “Didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” she said, leaving it at that.

She started the play with his hair, trying to braid little pieces of it just so he’d wake up with rogue curls in the morning and grumble about it over his lukewarm tea.

“I really am him, aren’t I?” He asked later, half asleep.

Anya nodded slowly, a sad grin on her lips.

“Blue blood,” he scoffed.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Dimitri woke up alone, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat. Where was Anya?

He hunched his shoulders, pressing his hands against his eyes. He took deep breaths, clearing his head. He just needed to talk to Anastasia, she’d clear things up.

Throwing on a shirt and standing up, he headed for the kitchen. He found her with a mug of coffee in her hands. “Good morning.”

“You left,” he said.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she frowned. 

“No, in Yekaterinburg.” He corrected her. “You left.”

“Dima…” 

“You promised you wouldn’t, and then you were gone without a trace.” His hands were shaking, he shoved them into his pockets. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Dima, Iー,” she said, voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice. They forced me out.”

“Why were you there in the first place?” He asked, brows furrowing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I-I was just a servant,” she explained. “I worked with Alexei’s doctor.”

“Then why did we ever interact at all? If you were _just a servant_ then I shouldn’t have ever paid you any mind. So why do I keep remembering tunnels in walls and sneaking out together? And _why_ do I feel like I’m getting deja-vu when we share a bed at night? Why did I wake up in that hospital with a picture of _you_ in my jacket?” He asked, getting more aggravated by the second.

He’d taken a wild guess with the picture but, going by the look on her face, he was right. She was the girl in the photo. That must have been why she was so upset when she’d found it.

“Were we friends? Is that it?”

“Not quite.” She scrunched her nose up and set down her coffee mug. He was going to find out eventually.

“Anya, please tell meー”

“We were lovers,” she blurted.

He froze, letting her words settle in the air. His heart dropped to the floor. That was the last thing he’d wanted to hear.

“Lovers,” he repeated slowly. “So that’s it then? None of this meant anything?”

“What are you talking about? It meant everything,” Anya argued.

“No, it didn’t! You’ve done it all before!” He raised his voice a bit louder than he’d originally meant to. She flinched at the volume but he didn’t lower it. “None of this matters!”

“Of course it matters!”

“To me!” He cried. “It matters to me! Because I can't remember the first time! I can't remember our first kiss, falling in love with you, any of it!”

“Dimitriー” She looked stricken.

“It's my first time around this bend and you already know everything about me! How I kiss, how I sleep, how I make love! You know exactly what buttons to press, what makes me happy or angry or sad, know I’m fucking ticklish!"

“Dima, please,” she whispered, taking a step closer to him. 

“Don’t.” She’d lied to him. She’d kept him from the truth, and for what? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

He hesitated.

“Didn’t think so,” she sighed and his anger flared again.

Dimitri growled, turning to leave her standing there. 

“Where are you going?” She called after him.

“Anywhere else!”

* * *

Vlad caught him wandering the streets a few hours later, hands shoved in his thread-bare jacket pockets and head hung low. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry anymore. He was numb with cold and with sorrow.

“Mitya! There you are!” Vlad exclaimed, gripping him by the shoulders. Anya rounded the corner at a sprint and skidded to a stop by Vlad’s side. “Your friend, the commissioner, found out about the plan.”

“He’s not my friend,” Mitya scowled.

“Yeah, well, he had the palace raided. It’s over,” Vlad sighed.

“Then we need to leave,” Dimitri said, trying and failing to look anywhere but at Anya.

“We don’t have the money,” she spoke up, breathing hard. He pulled out his purse. 

“This is everything I got at the factory this week,” he said, shoving the bag into Anya’s hands.

“I don’t want your money,” she frowned, trying to give it back.

“It’s _our_ money!” He protested. 

“Well, it’s not enough! We’re out of time and we can’t afford to leave.” She looked like she was on the edge of tears. Whether that was from their earlier fight or the hopelessness of their new situation, he couldn’t tell.

Dimitri was quiet for a second, chewing his bottom lip in thought. He was upset with her, sure, but he needed to get out of Russia. He needed to find out who he was.

Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a diamond placed it in the palm of her hand. “Will that be enough?”

She looked down at the rock and back up at him and then back down at the rock, stunned silent.

“What is it?” Vlad asked, leaning over to look.

“The nurses found it sewn into my shirt, told me to never show it to anyone I didn’t trust,” Dimitri explained and then asked again: “Will it be enough?”

“Oh, you beautiful man,” Anastasia said under her breath. A tentative smile spread across her face as she glanced up at him again. Her eyes were almost as bright as the diamond. It was nice to see her acting more like herself again. “This would be enough to get you anywhere you ever wanted, let alone Paris!”

Dimitri noticed that she didn’t include herself in that statement. Did she think she wasn’t coming?

“I’ll go get the papers,” Vlad said, his usual energy back. “Anastasia will pawn the diamond. We’ll all meet at the train station in an hour.”

And with that he was off, heading downtown to find his usual forgeries man. Anya started to walk off before Dimitri grabbed her by the arm.

“If you think I’m leaving without you then you’re dumber than you look,” he leaned close to her ear and spoke quietly. She took a shaky deep breath and nodded before he let her go. She had a diamond to pawn and he had train tickets to buy.

* * *

Anya and Dimitri didn’t have a moment alone until they were aboard the Tasha. Vlad had claimed the top bunk as soon as they’d entered the small cabin, giving Mitya the bottom, with Anya left to situate herself on the floor.

 _Remember the money. It’s all for the money._ It was the mantra she had been repeating since the fight. Soon this would all be over, and she could move on like it never happened.

She couldn’t sleep, too distracted by the storm outside and the rocking of the ship. She wished she had some cotton. It seemed Dimitri was in much the same position, as he kept tossing and turning before getting up with a huff and stomping out of the room.

Anya watched him go, deciding if she should go after him or not. After a moment of considering it, she grabbed her coat to follow. She felt the weight of the old music box in her pocket. She’d put it there when she and Vlad were fleeing the palace, not about to lose the last thing she’d had of him from before.

Walking down the narrow hallway, she found him sitting at the top of the stairway that led out onto the deck. The rain pounded on the screen door before him, but he didn’t seem to mind the damp ocean air.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, coming to sit a couple steps down from him. He turned his head to look at her, face blank. Suddenly she became more aware of her appearance, running her fingers through her mussed-up hair and tugging on the hem of her thin nightgown. She ducked her head to hide her flushed face. Why did she feel like a stripped wire around him?

“You either, then?” Dimitri mumbled.

“No, too seasick for sleep,” she said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Plugging one ear usually helps,” he smiled gently, the lines of his face accentuated by the faint moonlight. Anya laughed softly and nodded.

“I have heard that, yeah.”

An awkward silence fell over them after that, making Anya’s heart pound behind her ribs. For the first time in her life, it felt like, she didn’t know what to say to him.

“Listenー” she started.

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted her. “You don’t need to.”

“I do, though,” she insisted. “I should have told you. As soon as I knew it was you, I should have said something. It wasn’t fair to leave you in the dark like that.”

“Yeah,” he conceded. “But I’d have done the same thing.”

“Youー wait, what?’ She asked, looking up at him in shock.

“If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have told me either.” Dimitri was smiling at her again, making her heart jump in odd patterns. “It would have made things more complicated. And you said it yourself, who’s to tell if I actually would have listened to you?”

“Dima…” she said, searching for the right words. They didn’t come. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the music box and offered it to him. “Here. This is yours. I think it’s broken, though, I can’t get it open.”

Dimitri took the box from her, fiddling with the necklace he always wore. He stashed it away with an appreciative grin, not saying any more about it.

“I remember it now, you know. Our first kiss,” he said. He’d dreamt about it, it felt real. “We were in a garden, dancing with no music.”

Anya beamed, jumping up to throw her arms around his shoulders, the knot in her chest finally untied. He laughed when he fell back against the screen door behind him, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I’m not sorry for how I reacted,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, “but I’m not angry.”

* * *

Paris was amazing. There were cafes on every corner and department stores so big they looked like palaces and the _food_. The food was divine. It was everything Dimitri had ever dreamed and more

He waltzed into the hotel suite on the second day, a box hidden behind his back. 

“I have a present.” He announced, smiling wide. Sophie had accepted him as the Tsesarevich after hours of interrogation, they were allowed to celebrate.

Anya glanced at him suspiciously from the bed where she lay, sprawled out on her back. He had to tilt his head to the side to see her face properly from her upside-down position.

“Is this a present I’m going to like?”

“You tell me.” He pulled out the box, opening it to reveal an assortment of colourful macarons and watched Anya light up. She sat up and reached out with eager giggles. He climbed up onto the bed with her, letting her grab whichever colour she wanted. She chose the yellow one first.

The moan she let out after her first bite was almost erotic. Dimitri felt his face flush, but he cleared his throat and moved on. “That good, huh?”

She pressed the other half into his hand. “Try it,” she insisted.

He tried to give it back, “I bought them for you.”

“They’re better when you share them,” she said, licking flour off her lips. He sighed and took a bite of the pastry. Anya was right, it was better shared.

He grinned, content, and settled back in the bed. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed for years, it felt like heaven.

“I was talking to Vlad today, you know,” Anya said, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling up at him wryly.

“You talk to Vlad every day,” Dimitri stated, laughing when she flicked his cheek.

“Besides the point,” she started again. “We were passing this restaurant and we saw this couple, and you’ll never guess what they said to each other.”

“What?” He played along, wondering where this was going.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” she said. Dimitri felt his blood run cold. “So I asked Vlad what it meant andー”

He sat up, skin white as the sheets underneath him. “Anya, I can explain.”

“I love you too,” she interrupted. His heart stuttered in its rhythm.

“Iー wait, what did you say?”

“I love you, idiot!” She smiled at him and he felt his chest swell at the sight. She loved him. _She loved him._

“Really?”

“Dima,” she deadpanned. “I’m sharing my macarons and my bed with you. Would I do that if I didn’t love you?”

He was pretty sure there was an innuendo to be had there. He opened his mouth but she cut him off. 

“Don’t answer that.”

“So, that’s a yes then?”

She nodded, laughing to herself. “That’s a definite yes.”

He kissed her then and she tasted like lemon pastries. She was perfect.

“I love you,” he mumbled, only pulling away enough to say it against her lips. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She pushed him back into the mattress. “Prove it.”

* * *

“How dare you stand here in _his_ uniform,” the man stammered, face cherry red. He turned to Sophie. “How dare you bring thisー this imposter here. Parading him around as the Tsesarevich, the disrespect!”

“I intend no disrespect,” Dimitri said. “Though, your own insecurities say enough.”

“You’ve gotten into your own head, boy. Made yourself believe you’re someone you’re not,” the count sneered. “You’re a street rat and you always will be.”

“Count Leopold,” Dimitri said through gritted teeth. “You know, it’s all coming back to me now. With your dyed hair, powdered face, and vodka breath, it’s really no wonder my parents laughed at you behind your back.”

Anya barely managed to stifle her own laughter.

“Gentlemen, we’re at the ballet! Please!” Sophie cried, scandalized.

“You call yourself Dimitri Romanov and yet you associate yourself with whores and con men?” The count scoffed, turning to look back at his companion.

“At least I don’t associate myself with murderers,” Dima returned defensively, pulling Anya closer to his side. The man beside Leopold, Felix Yusupov, went pale. The death of Rasputin was written clearly on his face.

“Your majesty,” Yusupov begged in a timid voice. “Is there any chance that the othersー _Maria_?”

Dimitri went rigid at the mention of his lost twin. He no longer looked angry, only tired beyond his years.

“Do not approach me again,” he said, trying to hide the waver in his voice by holding his head high as Sophie and Vlad led them away. Leopold was left to choke on his anger, with Yusupov still beside him oozing guilt like an oil spill.

* * *

“Your majesty, I intend you no harm,” Anya said, pushing past Sophie to see the Dowager. “My name is Anastasia, I used to work at the palace.”

“Well, that’s one I haven’t heard, I must say,” Maria rolled her eyes and stood up to leave, tossing her programme into her chair.

“Wait, don’t go, please! If you’ll just hear me out,” Anya ran to catch up with her before she left the box.

“I know what you’re after. I’ve seen it before,” Maria said, pointing a finger in her face. She walked through the thick red curtain. “People who train young men in the royal ways.”

“But if your highness will just listenー”

“Haven’t you been listening? I’ve had enough! I don’t care how much you’ve fashioned this man to look like him, sound like him, or act like him. In the end, it never is him.”

“This time it is him!” Anya cried.

“How much pain will you inflict on an old woman for money?” The Dowager asked, motioning towards her guards. “Remove her at once.”

Anya struggled against the guard’s grasp. If she would just listen, if she’d just see, she would know that he really is Dimitri.

They dragged her out the door, slamming it closed. She turned to try and open it, but it wouldn’t budge. They’d shut her out and god, it felt like Yekaterinburg all over again.

“It was all a lie,” Mitya said, standing behind her. He’d heard, then. She turned on her heel, the hem of her blue dress fanning out as she spun.

“No,” she said, reaching out towards him. He pulled back, looking like he wanted to shout at her. He glanced around at their present company and thought better of it. He stormed outside instead, Anya trailing after him like a kicked puppy.

“You used me!” His restraint vanished as soon as they stepped out of the theatre. “You only wanted to get her _money_. And here I was, thinking you gave a damn about what happened to me!”

“Dima, that isn’t true. It may have started out that way but Iー”

“Don’t say it,” he snarled, taking a threatening step closer. She flinched. “From the very beginning, you lied! And I not only believed you, I actuallyーugh!”

Anya felt tears spring up behind her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not in front of him.

“I’m done,” he spat, turning to hail a cab. “With all of this.”

He left her there on the side of the road, and just when she was about to let her tears fall the Dowager Empress exited the building. Blinded with hot rage, Anya rushed up to her.

“Your grace,” she said, stopping her on the pavement.

“How dare you address me,” Maria scowled.

“Mitya doesn’t want your money! I take full responsibility!”

“Enough!”

“But I believe with all my heart that he is the Tsesarevich Dimitri Romanov!” Anya was shouting now, but she didn’t care. “He only wants what is rightfully his. Your recognition and your loving embrace!”

The Dowager was walking away from her, and that simply wouldn’t do. Without thinking, Anya stomped down on the train of her dress, stopping her in her tracks.

“Try to imagine his life! Since his parents, his little brother, his sisters, his own twin was murdered in front of him!” She yelled.

“I don’t need reminding of what happened to my family,” Maria said, turning back to look at Anastasia, tugging her dress away. “I lost everything I loved that day!”

“So did he,” Anya said, leaning closer. “Dima survived for a reason! You must admit that! If the people see he is alive then they might rally around him! Russia will have a Tsar again, do you not want that?”

“That is no longer a concern of mine! Russia has damned itself to eternity for what it has done!” the Dowager Empress shouted.

“You’re tiring her!” Sophie rushed to her side.

“God will judge you harshly, old woman.” Anya spat the words like they burned, her fists clenched by her side. “History already has.”

Anya turned and walked away, trying to control her breathing so she didn’t spontaneously combust.

“Take me home, Sophie.”

* * *

Dimitri was back at the hotel, packing up his things. He wanted to leave all of this behind. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

A knock sounded on the door. “Go away, Anastasia.”

He was still shoving his clothes into his suitcase when he heard the door open. He turned around with a sigh, gasping when he saw the Empress. “Oh. I-I’m sorry, your majesty. I thought you were…”

“I know very well who you thought I was,” Maria walked into the room, cane in hand. “Who exactly are you?”

“I was kind of hoping you could tell me,” Mitya said, not meeting her eyes.

“My dear, I’m old. And I’m tired of being conned and tricked,” she said, walking around him.

“I don’t want to trick you,” he replied.

“And I suppose the money doesn’t interest you either?”

Dimitri sat on a cushioned bench, breathing deeply.

“How dare you sit without my permission?” 

He stood up immediately. 

“Alright, sit, you have my permission,” she said, sitting down herself. “Who was my favourite lady in waiting?”

“You didn’t have one, you kept dismissing them,” he answered.

“It was a trick question,” she said, seemingly lost in thought. “You’re just clever.”

She leaned closer, squinting at him. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing but she spoke before he could. “I’m trying to see the resemblance, I don’t trust my eyes.”

“You should wear spectacles,” he said without thought. Grimacing, he bowed his head, “I’m sorry.”

“I admit there is some similarity,” she said, leaning back again.

“Thank youー”

“I said some,” she frowned. “Name the threeー”

“Why don’t you want me to be him?” Dimitri asked, suddenly. Maria was quiet for a moment.

“I have found solace in my bitterness. It drifts steadily, like a black poison, it doesn’t disappoint me. You Dimitri’s always do.” The Dowager stood again and walked toward the window overlooking the city. It was beautiful at night. “I remember everything the way it should have been and nothing the way it was. I am unreliable, I’m a historian of the heart. I want this fearful journey to be over.”

“I just want to know who I am,” Mitya stood as well. “Whether or not I belong to a family. Your family.”

“You’re a very good actor,” Maria admitted. “Best yet, in fact. But I’ve had enough.”

Mitya lowered his head as she went to leave. The smell of her hit him like a brick as she passed. “Peppermint?”

“An oil, for my hands,” she explained, stopping at the door.

“Yes,” Dimitri smiled to himself, grabbing at the necklace he wore under his shirt. “I spilt a bottle. Mama was so mad! The carpet was soaked and it forever smelled of _peppermint_. Like you.”

The Dowager turned back to him, watching carefully as he leaned back against the wall and played with the chain of his necklace. Unsteady on her feet, she sat back down on the bench. “Maria and I used to lie there on that rug and, oh, how we’d miss you when you went away. When you came here. To Paris.”

The Dowager patted the seat beside her. He joined her again and she asked: “What is that?”

“This?” He glanced down at the necklace. “Well, I’ve always had it.”

“May I?” Maria asked. He nodded and took it off.

“It was our secret, my Dimitri and I’s,” she said, pressing her hand against her heart. Mitya glanced over at his dresser, where the music box sat. He rushed over to grab it, sitting back down excitedly with it in his hands.

“The music box you gave me,” he said, taking back his necklace. He remembered what it was for now. He took the pendant and used it as a key to open the music box. “To sing me to sleep when you were gone.”

The box opened and began to play its tune. Dimitri hummed along, remembering the words now. “Soon you’ll be home with me.”

“Once upon a December,” the Dowager joined. 

“Hello,” he smiled at her once the song ended.

“My Dimitri!” She pulled him into a tight hug, grabbing his shirt, afraid he might disappear again if she let him go for just one moment. “What took you so long? You’ve come too late.”

“It’s never too late to come home,” he said, holding her close.

* * *

“You sent for me, your grace?” Anya bowed as she entered the study.

The Dowager stood by a table, motioning towards the open case that sat upon it. “Ten million rubles, as promised, with my gratitude.”

Ducking her head Anya said, “I accept your gratitude, your majesty. But I-I don’t want the money.”

Oh, she was going to regret that someday, wasn’t she?

“What _do_ you want then?” The Empress stepped towards her. Anya was starting to wish she hadn’t stomped on her dress.

“Unfortunately, nothing you can give,” she said before stepping back towards the door.

“Young lady,” the Dowager stopped her. “Where did you get that music box? Dimitri said you gave it to him on the way to Paris.”

Anya didn’t reply.

“You did work at the palace, didn’t you? You found my grandson and restored him to me, yet you want no reward?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why the change of mind?” She asked.

“It was more a change of heart.” Anya swallowed past the lump in her throat, bowing one last time. “I must go.”

She was almost free from the palace when she saw him, walking up the stairs while she was walking down. He almost seemed to smile at her before catching himself. He was angry with her. He had every right to be.

“Hello, Anastasia,” he said, causing her to stop and look up at him.

“Hello.”

“Did you collect your reward?” He asked, voice sharp but not as much as she’d been expecting.

“My business is complete,” she replied, starting down the stairs again.

“Young lady, you will bow and address the Tsar as your majesty,” an older man at the bottom of the steps said.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Dimitri began, still not one for titles.

“Please,” Anya said, putting up her hands. She bowed. “Your majesty. I’m glad you found what you were looking for.”

“Yes,” Dimitri sighed. “Yes, I’m glad you did too.”

“Well then. Goodbye, your majesty.” Anya walked down the rest of the stairs before running out of the palace.

* * *

The ball was in full swing, but Dimitri was still lingering behind the curtain. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He had a family again, he had a home. If he went out there, he’d officially be announced Tsar of Russia. It was the role he’d been raised for, so why did it still feel like he was playing a part? Why did it feel like he didn’t belong?

He peeked behind the curtain again, watching all the people as they danced.

“She’s not there,” his grandmother said, walking up behind him.

“Oh, I know she’s not…” he started. “Wait, who’s not there?”

“Your young lady.” Anya, then.

“She’s not my young lady.”

“It’s not plain to you that she loves you?”

“She’s not my young lady!” He insisted. She might’ve been before, but now she was just a painful memory, another scar on his heart.

“When she brought you to me, I thought, ‘Dimitri has found himself another kind of princess. One of character, not birth.’”

“Regardless, she isn’t here,” Dimitri sniffed to cover the hurt in his voice. “In fact, she’s probably off spending her reward money as fast as she can.”

“Mitya, you were born into this world of glittering jewels and fine titles. But, I wonder if this is what you really want,” the Dowager said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Of course it is,” Dimitri replied, placing his hand over hers. “I found what I was looking for. I found out who I am, I found you.”

“Yes, you did find me. And you’ll always have me. But is it enough?” The Dowager pulled him into another hug. “My darling, she didn’t take the money.”

“She didn’t?” He leaned back.

“Knowing that you are alive, seeing the man you’ve become, brings me joy I never thought I could feel again.” The Dowager brushed some of his hair away from his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now it seems you have a decision to make, my dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to let her slip away?” She asked. “Whatever you choose, we will always have each other.”

And with that, she vanished behind the curtain to join the others at the ball.

* * *

He’d gone back to his room to think. He was never a fan of social events, always too many people and not enough air for all of them to breathe. Balls had always been Maria’s scene, and going to one without her seemed impossible.

“You told me you knew nothing of the Romanov imposters, and against my better judgement, I let you go,” a voice said from behind Dimitri. He twisted around, heart racing at the familiarity. “Well, not this time.”

“Gleb.” The damned Deputy Commissioner had followed them to France.

“Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian,” Gleb said.

“We are both good and loyal Russians,” Dimitri held his ground.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

“My home is here now,” Dima argued.

“Stop playing this game, Mitya! I beg you.”

“We both know it’s not a game, Gleb.”

“If you really are Dimitri, do you think history wants you to have lived?” Gleb asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mitya said, head held high. “Why don’t you?”

“The Romanovs were given everything and gave back nothing until the Russian people rose up and destroyed them!” Gleb shouted.

“All but one,” Dimitri said proudly. And there it was, he’d admitted outright that he was the Tsarevich. Gleb reached into his jacket, pulling out a pistol. “Finish it. I am my father’s son.”

“As am I!” He cocked the gun. “Finish it, I must.”

Dimitri started to walk around him, taunting. Gleb followed him with his eyes. “My father came home late that night and told me not to ask. They were gone, all of them.”

“In me you see them. Look at their faces in mine, hear their screams, imagine their terror, see their blood!” His blood was rushing in his ears, but he didn’t notice. Adrenaline was coursing through him as he looked back and forth between Gleb and the pistol in his hand. It wouldn’t be the first time he was shot.

Gleb held up the gun. “I believe he did a proud and vital task! And in my father’s nameー” 

“Do it! And I will be with my parents and my brother and sisters in that cellar in Yekaterinburg all over again!” He could still hear the shots, the screams, the silence after. He could still feel the ache in his shoulder, where the bullet had struck just above his heart. He could see his dead twin, lying on the damp floor beside him, just out of reach. Could feel the cold of the night as they carried out the bodies and threw them onto the back of a truck. He’d had to throw himself off the vehicle and drag himself into the woods that night, covered in blood and numb with shock.

“A man makes painful choices, he does what’s necessary, Mitya,” Gleb followed him with the gun. Dimitri wanted to interrupt. Wanted to scream and cry and swear. The murder of innocent children, of the Grand Duchesses who had no claim to the Russian throne, was not necessary. “For Russia, what choice but simple duty? We have the past to bury! _Long live the Romanovs._ ”

Dimitri stepped closer, a fire burning in his eyes. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“The Tsar lies cold, Mitya! Imperial Russia is gone and we are Soviets now! A revolution is a simple thing!” Gleb cried, trying to convince himself to shoot. “I’ll ask one more time, who are you?”

“I am Dimitri Nikolaevich Romanov, rightful Tsar of Russia!” Dima shouted, his anger coming to a head. He was royalty damn it, and he’d lost everything because of it.

The commissioner fell to his knees at once, dropping the gun to the floor. Mitya’s heart pounded in his chest, realising how close he’d been to death.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, walking up to Gleb. He wanted to kick the gun further away, but Gleb reached out before he could, tucking it back into his coat.

“I believe you are Dimitri,” the man said, head ducked low. “And I believe I am damned for eternity for not pulling that trigger.”

“What will you tell them?” Dimitri asked, standing tall as Gleb got to his feet.

“That I was not my father’s son after all,” he replied. “Long life, comrade.”

He reached out to shake his hand, but Dimitri turned away. He would not touch the man who had just tried to murder him. There was only so much he was willing to forgive. Gleb dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “Goodbye.”

* * *

She was leaving. She had to leave. But what was the harm of looking around one last time? There were trains she could catch in the morning. All she had was one night.

She hadn’t meant to end up on the Pont Alexandre III, but with her mind solely focused on one man, it was no surprise her feet had brought her there. It was his grandfathers’ bridge.

She shivered and gripped her suitcase tighter. It was getting late and she still needed to find somewhere to sleep. Maybe some park bench nearby would be open.

She started to walk across the bridge, taking a deep breath and willing the aching in her chest away. This was for the best. If only it didn’t hurt so much.

“Anya.” She stopped. He was there. Of course, he was there. It was exactly her kind of rotten luck.

In an instant, she was bowing. “Your majesty.”

“You didn’t take the money,” he said, mouth twitching into a smile.

“It wasn’t what I wanted.” She didn’t know what else to say.

He should’ve been at the ball. He should’ve been celebrating with family and friends and political allies. It was his coronation night, after all. What was he doing chasing after her?

“Anya, don’t leave,” he said.

“Is that an order?” She snarked and then, realising what she’s done, added, “Sorry, your majesty.”

She dipped her head low and chewed her lip. He wasn’t someone she could tease now. She’d gone and ruined that, hadn’t she?

“Stop calling me that. You never call me that before,” he said so quiet it was almost a whisper. The night was cold and the bridge was less populated than the day he’d come there by himself.  
“It’s different now, Dimitri.” She looked up at him, finally catching sight of his face. Another pang in her chest. “It’s your rightful title.”

“For everyone but you.” He took a step closer. “I can’t hear it from you.”

With a sigh, Anastasia took a small step back. “If you ever see me from a carriage again, don’t wave, don’t smile. I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life.”

Dimitri frowned.

She continued on, “I’ve heard rumours of a counter-revolution now that there’s going to be a Tsar again. You’ll be back to your old life in no time.”

“I don’t want a counter-revolution,” Dimitri said quickly. “I don’t want to be the Tsar, Anastasia.”

“You can’t say that,” she argued.

“Actually, I can,” Dimitri said. “Alexei is gone, I wouldn’t be leaving him with the responsibility anymore. I can be free, don’t you understand?”

“But Russiaー”

“The people made their choice the night they murdered my family. Let them suffer the consequences.”

“You’re being absurd.” 

She turned to leave, having said all she wanted.

“I always dreamed I’d kiss a beautiful princess on this bridge,” Dimitri said, freezing Anya in her tracks. She dropped her suitcase and spun around again.

“I’m not your princess, Dima.”

He crossed the distance between them at that, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her up to stand on her knocked over suitcase. She was almost eye level with him.

“The Tsar of all Russia would beg to disagree, Anya,” he said, hands gripping her hips like he was afraid she’d bolt if he didn’t.

When he kissed her there was no fanfare, no fireworks lighting up the night sky. It was just Dimitri and Anya, lost in their own little world. Just as they’d done a thousand times before.

Onlookers might’ve thought it odd to see a man dressed in an imperial uniform, blue sash and all, kissing a girl in rags. But if they did, no one commented on it. Odd things happened in Paris all the time.

Anya reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, leaning back with a smile. “What do we do now?”

“Just stay, and we’ll go from there.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! don't be afraid to leave a comment or kudos if you liked it!! 
> 
> -karter <3


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